Pieces
by Nival Vixen
Summary: COMPLETE! The scars are still there, forever reminding. It feels like the walls are closing in, suffocating her. Everything's in pieces, but she's still expected to live Happily Ever After. Angst!Ginny. Dark fic. Second in The Ones Left Behind Trilogy.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

_Second in The Ones Left Behind Trilogy. (Sequel to **Fragments**.)  
_

...

Ginny hated what her life had become. Ever since Fred's funeral, it felt like the walls of The Burrow were closing in around her. She'd tried to escape the confines of the house whenever she could, but her mother soon found reason after reason to keep her inside. To keep her "safe". There were Death Eaters still roaming the country after the end of the war, all of them in hiding, so of course, they'd have _nothing_ better to do than to show up to the house of Order members. Since she couldn't escape during the day, she escaped at night. She found that if she slept during the day, then the suffocating sense didn't seem so overwhelming.

Another nightly run. Her scarred hands almost glowing in the moonlight. White marks and bruised scratches, red welts and broken skin, all of it a reminder of what she'd lost. Not just a brother, but her freedom too. Ironically, that's what she thought they'd all been fighting for. Freedom. The others had all been granted their freedom immediately, but her? She'd traded one oppressing tyrant for another.

Glances back to her window. It hasn't even got a scratch to show where George's hex shattered and smashed it. She didn't want them to fix it, had wanted the physical reminder even as the bodily one disappeared. But then it had snowed awfully bad, and she'd gone to St. Mungo's with pneumonia only to come back to find her window shining and new and fixed. The Ministry weren't sparing any expense on the heroes of the Final War. She wondered how long it would take for them to fix it if she put her fist through it right now. Clenches her fist, pulls back, but only taps the window gently. Loud noises will wake her parents - they're all light sleepers now; war does that to people - and she'll be forced inside once more, forced to play the dutiful little daughter.

Fred and George were always her favourite brothers. Ron likes to think he was, but he never could be, not with the way his eyes glanced over her, the way he never properly noticed something about her unless it was something he didn't approve of. Fred and George really had sent her a toilet seat - they always kept their promises - and she'd never told her parents, knowing how much trouble they'd get into. Instead, she hid the thing under her bed, a gleeful little secret between the three of them. Now Fred was gone, and George wasn't the same. Too emotional, too robotic, never happy, always smiling, crying, everything and nothing all at the same time. Even his engagement to Angelina didn't seem right. There were too many looks of the wrong sort at each other, as if they were only reminders, each of them knowing that they were replacements for the one they'd lost. Well, they were all that way. Just the pieces that the war had left behind.

Not just the war, but people too. People left each other behind. Whether they thought it was the Right Thing To Do, or To Keep Them Safe, or even To Save The World, there were still those who left on purpose. There was nothing to keep those people from staying, from being with the ones they said they loved. They still left. They didn't die, but pieces of them had died inside. They'd done things in the war that they never thought they'd do. They had to find themselves again. And they couldn't - wouldn't - do it with others around. Except for their best friends, of course. So she was left behind as the Golden Trio went into the sunset to Find Themselves Again. She hadn't done things in the war too? She hadn't had awful experiences that she wanted to leave behind? She hadn't had pieces of her scatter to the wind, landing on a bloodied field of death? She hadn't needed to find herself after all of that? She hadn't helped them Save The Gods Damned World? No, everything she'd done hadn't been considered by those who she thought would have understood. She was dismissed, as if she hadn't contributed a gods' damned fucking thing to the war effort. Well, she had her scars, both mentally as well as physically, and they were the ones who got to skip away holding hands and singing fucking Kumbaya?

Imagine when they came back. All of them newly healed and having found themselves. They'd be shining and perfect, and she'd still be broken. Pieces and fragments of her everywhere. She couldn't find herself, couldn't leave the house to even try. She'd never fit into their perfect triangle, never be asked to, or even considered. Yet, she'd still be forced to marry the Boy Wonder, because that's what would be expected of her. That's what people did expect of her (and by people, she meant her mother). Never mind the fact that she might not actually love him, might want to be more than what they wanted for her. Never mind the fact that while he was shiny and new and healed, she was still broken and dark and twisted. And not just from the war.

But we don't talk about that. It's a secret. Hex it to smithereens and sweep it under the rug. Don't talk about it, don't write about it, don't even think about it. Every family has its' secrets, every family has skeletons in the closet. Some are just bigger than others. But none are ever talked about. Keep quiet, keep your head low, don't make noise, don't disturb the adults, try not to be seen if you can help it. And don't trust anything that thinks for itself if you can't see where it keeps it's brain. Bits and pieces of advice over the years, whispered in the corridors, hushed conversations in rooms, a warning glare, a look of reprimand. All of it so she could Marry the Boy Wonder and Live Happily Ever After. But what if she doesn't want Happily Ever After? A meaningless future with nothing to show for it?

Well, she's got something to show for it now. Sadness and anger and hate and love all wrapped up in tiny scars. Shards of glass under her skin forever more. Glass and reflections trapped under translucent skin and painful reminders in feet and hands. Limbs scratched and scarred, knuckles red and bleeding and raw. Sweat and tears and blood. Tufts and handfuls of red hair sawed off in the middle of the night, a shrill reminder of a brother with hair the same shade of the garish colour. She dyed it black, refused to let anyone change it back. George had only nodded when he'd seen it. He'd understood, of course. The twins always had understood her. Never judged her for anything either, not even her first year. Shh, quiet now. Those skeletons are rattling in the closet, can't you hear them?

Scars and hair and everyone gone and the walls suffocating her. She could jump off the roof right now. Her parents wouldn't hear her flying past their window. Wouldn't hear a thing until she hit the ground. They'd blame themselves, blame the world, blame the war, blame others, blame the First Year Incident, blame her for not talking to them more. They'd blame so many people, and then they'd hex the memory of her to smithereens, sweeping the pieces under the rug. She'd be too painful for them to remember, a memory that hurts rather than soothes. Just another skeleton in the closet.

The sun's beginning to rise again. Another day to try and get through without letting the suffocation overwhelm her completely. Another day to stay quiet, timid, submissive. In the bright morning, Ginny stands on the roof, quiet as always. Looks over the gutter and down to the garden. A few gnomes are puttering about, one of them carrying her father's prize garden gnome. Some stupid Muggle collection piece. Good riddance to it, ugly thing. Looks at the scars covering her one more time. Goes back into her room and sleeps through the day. Pretends not to hear when her mother opens her door, sleeps right through the Golden Trio's arrival, and only wakes when she feels like she can't breathe.

Discovers that she was right about the Golden Trio. They are fresh and new and healed. All that time finding themselves has done them good. They went across the world together, created more memories together, just the three of them. Now they're back again to Help The Government Rule The Wizarding World. They're still just teenagers, but no one would stop them. They're the Fucking Golden Trio, after all. They're heroes and they saved the world. (They also killed people, but that's just another skeleton in the closet, isn't it?) She wears long sleeves and pants at her mother's insistence, hide the scars, don't let him see that you're still broken, nods politely in all the right places, tries to remember the spell to alleviate suffocation. Can't think of it, excuses herself and runs out of the house. The Boy Wonder follows, but she's too quick, and he doesn't know all of The Burrow's hiding spots like she does. She stays in the orchard for the rest of the day, her scars matching the broken bark around her.

The Golden Trio stay for her seventeenth birthday, as if they care and think that her first birthday after the Final War would be one of celebration. It isn't. It's sadness and tears and puffy eyes and small sentences. There's barely any presents, fewer smiles, and her mother even forgot to make a cake. The Golden Trio, always coming to the rescue, pop down to the shops to buy one for her. How many people does it take to buy a bloody cake, anyway? They get a gingerbread house, think it's funny, not one able to remember that she hates ginger. She doesn't even get a slice of her own birthday cake. House. Whatever the fuck it is, she doesn't get any of it. Worst birthday of her life, but it could have been worse. She could have been dead. Or she could have been the last of their family to be alive. It could have been worse, but it sure as hell could have been better. Someone mutters something about PMS when she glowers at the Boy Wonder for putting his arm about her shoulders. She hasn't agreed to him touching her, can't stand the physical touch of anyone yet. Hates the fact that it's blamed on hormones when it's anything and everything but. Realises she's of legal age now, and with an ironic and somewhat sadistic grin, she Apparates the fuck right out of there.

She's never had training, just knows from her brothers that it's about visualising where you want to go and making sure you get all of your body parts there at once. She has no idea where she's going, just knows that she wanted to get away. Of course, she doesn't get it right, splinches herself and is lying bleeding and screaming the gods' know where. Is told by an annoyed voice to shut up. Screams some more in response. If she's going to die by splinching, she's going to do it as loudly as bloody possible. No more timid and quiet and sweeping under the rug and skeletons in the closet. No, no, no. Doesn't realise that she's saying all of this out loud, pouring out every family secret in the middle of the street to a complete stranger. Wouldn't care even if she did know. The stranger listens, surprised at what's coming from her mouth. He knows who she is, despite the lack of red hair. Takes her away, fixes her up. Can't be seen on the street with her bleeding like that - people will think he'd done it. He has a reputation to rebuild.

Ginny wakes up, sees the Malfoy heir sitting in a chair across from her, gets some distorted memory of what she'd done and said. Tries to Apparate, but wards keep her firmly where she is. Tries to leave, but then the Malfoy heir does what the wards did, a hand on her arm to keep her there. Shards of glass dig deeper into her skin, whether real or phantom, it doesn't matter, it still hurts. He rolls up her sleeves, sees her arms. Doesn't seem surprised, doesn't look pitying, or give her a lecture. Instead, he offers her a salve, promises it's not bewitched. Knows from experience that it'll heal wounds and scars. She's suspicious at his kindness, and all too soon discovers what he wants. He wants her cooperation to help him rebuild his image. She doesn't want to marry the Boy Wonder. He blackmails her, essentially, but they both know that she could just Obliviate him. She agrees to go on a few dates with him, but refuses to put on the salve.

She accepts his proposal a year and a half later. Her family is horrified, the Boy Wonder can't seem to close his mouth, Ron is changing colours at an alarming rate, but George just nods. His own wedding ring winks at her in the firelight, as if telling her that its' owner understands and agrees. She's still feeling suffocated in The Burrow. Marrying Malfoy is an escape, with room to breathe properly, the freedom not allowed by her parents, and the ability to actually talk about things. They love each other as best as they can - they're both broken, both scarred, mere pieces of what they had been once. Perhaps they're better for it, but for now, they're both marrying each other as an escape, a means to make ends meet. His reputation is restored with their marriage, but dampened again when it is realised she always wears long sleeves in public and the servants whisper about scars and pain and glass. She doesn't hide the scars, provides evidence of them being there long before her marriage when her husband is accused of the damage. His reputation soars once more, the rich Malfoy heir taking such good care of a wife so broken to have done that to herself. She lets them whisper, ignores the stares, and walks with her head high. The servants stop whispering, get used to her wearing short sleeves in their home, know not to bring her anything reflective soon enough. She still doesn't use the salve.

Now, Ginny has a successful career, is married to a man who treats her as an equal, isn't living Happily Ever After (but who really wants that boring life, anyway?), and is pregnant with their son. Her life is moving forward, but one foot is always in the past, forever rooted there by memories and scars and pieces of glass.

...

The end.

Thank you for reading.

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End file.
